


Neat, Straight Up, or On the Rocks

by hirayaart



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:48:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23490109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hirayaart/pseuds/hirayaart
Summary: There are at least three ways to consume alcohol. There are more ways as to when--such as in celebration, mourning, social events, among comrades, a promotion, and to the Future. Royai throughout. Rating is for themes and language. All oneshots assume you’ve seen extra scenes from the manga, omake and both animes.
Relationships: Riza Hawkeye & Roy Mustang, Riza Hawkeye/Roy Mustang, mustang - Relationship
Comments: 28
Kudos: 72
Collections: FMA: Mustang+Hawkeye, Fav Royai serie and long-chapter





	1. Lager

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lager, otherwise also known as today's most commercially available beer.

“I’m going to propose to her, Roy.”

_ Huh? _ Roy Mustang looked over his glass with a sheepish smile. “I thought you already did.”

His comrade took off his glasses and started cleaning them against his day-old shirt. “You’re kidding,” he almost laughed. “When would I have done it? Before the war? During?”

Roy kept his smile.

“This is why you don’t have a steady girlfriend. You have zero sense of timing.”

“Hey, hey, Maes Hughes—!” Roy spat at the sudden offensive. He was about to add to it, but his good friend began to laugh. The sound quickly melted into the rest of their surroundings of the small but bustling East City casual bar.  _ The Führer’s Beer _ was their usual, ever since they found themselves out of the Academy and assigned to Eastern Command. Often, it was a chance to exchange banter and dreams after late nights performing their duties. Other nights, when they were rid of their distinctly militaristic blue garb, they would be stupid drunk, arm-in-arm, bellowing old Amestrian love songs by the live piano while other drunken couples and soldiers shared the dancefloor.

Tonight was supposedly one of the latter, but they were just getting started on the beer.

Maes sniggered at Roy’s familiar boyish temper and resisted the urge to bring up a certain blonde acquaintance he made through Roy in Ishval. Roy had called her a childhood friend.  _ What was her name again?  _ Maes thought, and his mind briefly drifted farther east, onto the hot sands of the desert.

_ “Did we have a rotation in snipers?” Maes walked up to the small group of foot soldiers sitting around a fire. Dusk had fallen onto the holy, battle trodden land of Ishval. The opposing sides had ceased fire and were resting, if not planning their attack for dawn. _

_“Not really,” one of the men_ _offered, rubbing his hands together. “Some rookies were brought in, though. Fresh out of the Academy.”_

_ Maes’ eyes widened. “Right out of the Academy and into  _ this _ hell hole?” _

_ Another man sighed and looked up at Maes. “They’re apparently a good batch of sharp eyes, Captain. And while they’re rested, a handful have been tasked the first watch tonight.” _

_ Maes looked up to see dark figures on the nearby horizon, hunched and facing away from the Amestrian circle. Their rifles were poised and resting at angles in their arms. _

_ “Did you see the youngest of them?” _

_ Maes looked curiously at the first man. “Which one?” _

_ “Lady with blonde hair. You can’t miss.” _

_ Maes’ breath hitched at the thought of a young woman on the battlefield.  _

_ “She’s the best of the best. They say she hasn’t wasted a shot yet.” _

_ “Ah, yeah,” said the second man.  _ “The Hawk’s Eye.”

_ Maes felt a low and thoughtful grumble at the back of his throat and he looked up at the hunched figures again. That was when he realized that he recognized the blonde-haired sniper. _ The girl from the lookout this afternoon... _ thus to no surprise, he also recognized Roy was making his way towards her. _

_ As soon as Roy was four paces out, The Hawk’s Eye turned to acknowledge him. Roy stopped and gave her a tired smile. She was too exhausted to return it. _

“Speaking of timing, Roy,” Maes set his glasses down next to his beer, “None better than now, too.”

Roy narrowed his eyes slightly.

_ “Hero of Ishval.” _

Roy tightened his lips and stared at his drink. “Funny you should mention.”

“Listen,” Maes said solemnly. “Our duty there is done. And it will change again in the next few weeks.”

“And we’re supposed to move on and readily accept whatever that is?”

“For now, and again and again,” Maes nodded. “Until you reach your goal, correct?”

Roy raised his eyebrows. He was met with what seemed to be a stronger resolve than his own. 

_“I will protect those directly below me,”_ _Roy said, not without a growl as he looked up at the man who stood high and above the land of which he ordered its extermination. “And the ones below me will protect those below them. We tiny humans should at least be capable of that much.”_

_ Maes offered a sly smile. “Therefore, the only way you can protect this entire country is if you make your way to the very top, huh?” _

Maes scratched his head, “Have I lost you?”

Roy snapped back to attention. “Ah, sorry…I was—”

“I’d still like to take part of that action,” Maes continued. “But I’m also trying to get off the field. I’m not putting my life on the line again. Not like that.”

Roy heaved a sigh and took a swig of his beer. “Where to?”

“The Court Martial Office.”

“All the way in Central? Man, even that’s a slow life for someone like you.”

Maes punched Roy on the arm, “Well, I’m leaving all the  _ excitement  _ to freaks like  _ you _ , Flame Alchemist!”

Roy smirked and brushed off the fist.

“Besides,” Maes said. “Wouldn’t you want to have someone on the inside looking at each and every skirmish in the country?”

_ What... _ Roy’s eyes narrowed as he looked into Maes’. He chuckled darkly. “I see...we’re getting more serious now.”

“You telling me I was  _ ahead _ of you _?” _ Maes retorted in mock surprise. “Mustang still falling behind, just like in the Academy.”

“Shut your mouth!” Roy barked, his 18-year old self still seething over that last slice of spinach quiche. “I’m the one doing the climbing, aren’t I?”

Maes had a gleam in his eye as he replaced his glasses and downed the rest of his beer. Just then, a shift in bar music emanated from the small quartet playing in the corner, and some young teenage couples got up to dance. As if on cue, the bartender appeared behind the counter.

“Another for you, sir?”

Roy tapped his own empty glass before Maes could reply, “Make it two. And put it on my tab at the end of the night.”

“You got it, chief!” The bartender took their glasses and disappeared for a refill.

Maes smiled. “What for?”

“Old time’s sake,” Roy returned and massaged the back of his neck. “And for the promotion that comes with your transfer to Court Martial. We’ll celebrate your proposal only if you get a ‘Yes.’”

_ “’If?’” _ Maes choked, “You asshole, you think she’ll say ‘No?!’”

“Of course not,” Roy said casually. “Which is why we’re definitely doing this again, right?”

Maes scoffed, “You bet.”

Two fresh beers slide down the countertop. Roy grabbed his glass and closed his eyes to recall what Maes’ future fiancée looked like.

_ “Yo, Roy-boy!” _

_ Roy fought the damning urge to roll his eyes and strangle his best mate. Further down the street, Maes was making his way over, a huge smile on his face, and an elegantly dressed, green-eyed woman on his arm. Roy put on his best smile back. “ _ Major! _ ” he called. _

_ From this distance, with the eyes Roy used to pin-point the smallest flame targets, he could see the woman’s cheeks turn pink.  _

_ “Fancy running into you on your day off, State Alchemist,” Hughes offered. _

Ah. How considerate to mention my title back.

_ “Someone I’d like you to meet. Gracia, this is Major Roy Mustang, a good friend from the Academy,” Maes grinned. “Roy, this is Gracia. She’s my girlfriend.” _

_ Roy saw it immediately, the way Maes’ face completely changed as soon as he addressed this woman...Gracia. His smile became more endearing, his eyes glassy, his voice just a notch gentler.  _

_ “Major Mustang,” Gracia smiled and offered her hand to shake. “Maes has said wonderful things about you.” _

_ Roy stopped himself from giving a beet red Maes a wink. He took Gracia’s hand and shook it customarily, “And he’s said nothing but beautiful things about you, Miss Gracia. Are you just going on your date?” _

_ “Y-yeah…” Maes said, inserting himself back into the limelight of the conversation. “Off to see the opera.” _

_ “Oh? Which one?”  _

_ “Die Rose vom Liebesgarten!” Gracia said breathlessly. “Maes was too kind to surprise me with it.” _

_ Roy smiled kindly and meant every single word he said next, “Miss Gracia, you’ll only ever see such unparalleled love and care from Maes Hughes.” _

“Cheers,” Roy grinned and raised his glass.

“One more thing.”

Roy raised his eyebrows, beer still in the air.

“While we’re on the trail of certainty, will you be my Best Man?”

Roy’s eyes widened and he felt his mouth open rather stupidly. 

In that moment he felt completely unsure of what he began to feel in his chest. It felt like fire, as if something small and warm was beginning to swell inside him and was threatening to burst.  _ Wait. _ It felt like pride. 

Pride! He was proud! 

_ Maes stared at the letter and let out the highest pitched scream Roy had ever heard high-pitched screams go.  _

_ “What is it?” Roy demanded, rather startled. _

_ “It’s my beautiful  _ future!” _ Maes said giddily. “Her name is Gracia. She’s waiting in Central for me to come home--”  _

_ Maes halted. _

_ Roy stared on incredulously.  _

_ “All by herself, all this time,” Maes hissed. “What if another man puts the moves on her?” _

Good god...

_ “Nah, Gracia wouldn’t disregard a fine man like me to have an affair with someone else…” _

“Hughes, _ a little word of warning,” Roy said, eyes closed and brow furrowing with irritation. “This often happens in movies and novels. A guy on the battlefield who brings up stories of his woman immediately dies.” _

_ “Listen here, you--!” Hughes grumbled. _

_ Roy turned to look back at the rapidly depleting heritage sights of Ishval. For a moment, both men stood this way. In complete silence. _

_ Maes sighed. “Now I can live until tomorrow.” _

_ “What’s that?” _

_ “This letter is enough to let me dream about tomorrow,” Maes explained. “Here on this battlefield, where we don’t know when things will end…” _

And, here they were now. As Maes so promised his bride-to-be. And Roy Mustang,  _ Lieutenant Colonel Roy Mustang, _ was going to be Maes Hughes’  _ Best Man _ at the wedding!

_ Hell yes! _

Maes’ barking laughter again pulled Roy back into the bar scene, “Judging by that stupid look on your face, you agree!”

“Of course, I agree!” Roy’s voice was childish again and hot-tempered, but he was honest-to-goodness beaming, and once again offering his beer into the air. “To Mr. and Mrs. Maes and Gracia Hughes!”

Maes turned beet red as he grinned and met Roy’s glass. “Cheers, buddy.”


	2. Scotch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Scotland's whisky is made in a manner specified by law. The Scottish don't play.

“Sergeant.”

Kain Fuery turned to meet the eyes of his superior. “2nd Lieutenant,” he responded.

“You know your instructions?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Fuery swallowed. “Secure the perimeter maintaining equal distance between the two of us at all times.”

“Correct,” Riza Hawkeye dipped her chin and adjusted her crisp, white military gala around her waist. “It’s your first assignment with our team, but it’s a military ball. Don’t be too nervous.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Roy Mustang had yet again been invited out of Central City HQ to attend an exclusive military ball with the upper echelon, and like other men and women in his ranks he was permitted two escorts. He consulted Hawkeye privately as to who she wanted to take, and did not contest her decision to take their newest intake, Fuery. The youngest in the so-called Mustang Unit, Fuery was also handpicked by Mustang, for his radio and communications intelligence and his proficiency to execute. His stature was typically considered almost too short to be a soldier, and while still he barely made the cut, most of the ranks considered him to be sub-par just because of it. 

Fuery spent at least the next two years out of the Academy hopping from one team to the next, being given next-to-menial jobs of running paperwork and writing reports on behalf of his superiors. Until…

_“Hey, where’s that rookie now?”_

_Mustang looked up at the voices coming from the other corner of the hallway. He stopped and held up a hand. Hawkeye stopped customarily at his shoulder and did not question._

_“The Fuery kid? Not a rookie anymore, is he? He’s two years out.” came the response._

_The first man let out a chuckle, “But at the rate he’s going he’s_ stuck _a rookie. No one sees something like that getting any higher.”_

_“Perhaps, perhaps. But he’s very good with radios.”_

_“What does that do for anyone? We have the East City tech team to handle everything comms related. A unit doesn’t need anyone specialized in that.”_

_Before Mustang could hear anything more, the voices slowly began to disappear, the speakers apparently walking further down the hall._

_“Hawkeye.”_

_“Sir.”_

_“Find out who that Fuery kid is. I want to speak with him.”_

_“Affirmative.”_

_Later that afternoon as Mustang was reviewing day’s reports on his desk, he heard a knock on the door._

_“Enter,” he said immediately, eager for reprieve. He looked up to see Hawkeye, “Sir, W.O. Falman and Sgt. Kain Fuery.”_

_Mustang smiled, pleased with his team’s efficiency. “Let them in. Guard the door.”_

_“Yes, sir.” Hawkeye disappeared, replaced by two others--Warrant Officer Vato Falman, tall gray-haired and steady on his feet, and just behind him Sergeant Kain Fuery, short, hunched and uneasily adjusting his glasses._

_Falman closed the door and led Fuery to Mustang’s desk. “Lt. Col. Mustang, you requested to speak with Sgt. Kain Fuery. Maj. Comanche has given him 15 minutes leave.”_

_Mustang rolled his eyes, “So you’re under the Silver Alchemist. What’s he got you busy about to only have 15 minutes?”_

_Fuery swallowed and snapped into salute, “Lt. Col. Mustang, sir,” he said. “The major just gives me the day reports to accomplish for review by 1700.”_

_“At ease. All day?”_

_“Yes, sir...and the occasional fix of radios.”_

_“Tell me about your expertise on radios.”_

_Fuery looked up at Falman momentarily and then back at the superior officer. “Maj. Comanche noticed that I like tinkering with electronics, sir. So when a unit urgently needs fixing, he allows me to fix it instead of taking it to the tech center where it sits through about three days.”_

_Mustang waved his hand, “I’m asking about expertise, sergeant. What_ else _can you do with radios?”_

_“I…” Fuery paused, unsure of the unusual request. If he was being pulled into another team, this was the only time he had ever been asked anything other than how well he could write up a report, or how long he was willing to spend typing up dozens a day._

_Could it be that the lieutenant colonel was looking for something more specific for his unit? But what? Fuery was never made familiar with anyone above a major’s ranks. He was curious as to what he still had yet to see in the military, two years into the field--well barely even_ in _to the field-_

_“Sergeant, I don’t have all day.”_

_“Sir!” Fuery jumped. “I’m sorry. I can build radios from scratch sir, or I can modify existing models to the range and frequency that you require. I have not been given a chance to test it yet, but I keep a personal blueprint of a makeshift communications tower that can be built into anything as small as a serviced apartment, and I am confident that I can have its signal reach up to a 5-mile radius with the right resources.”_

_By now, Mustang had folded both his hands and pressed his knuckles against his lips. Leaving his striking gaze left to stare into an increasingly unsettled Fuery. “And...what are your dreams for this country?”_

_Fuery could feel patches of sweat forming under his jacket. “S-sir…?”_

_“You’ve had two years out of the Academy and have done nothing but bounce from one team to the next. Do you not have initiative of your own to take hold of your career and ask for bigger responsibility? Or are you satisfied being a low dog of the military?”_

_Fuery felt his face flush red, and his chest well. “I...I don’t choose this.”_

_“Yes, you do,” Mustang said flatly. “Every day. Every day you walk into Comanche’s office and every day you probably only wonder as far as whose office you’ll be pulled into next. People of my rank don’t see your value, that’s why they don’t ask for you.”_

_“Yet,_ you _summoned_ me _to your office--!” Fuery burst._

_Mustang smiled behind his hands, and kept his gaze on the younger man, whose face flushed even redder._

_“Please, Lt. Col. Mustang, accept my immediate apologies,” Fuery said hastily. “I was told that my height...it makes the ranks doubt my worth on the field. I was never a sharp shooter at the Academy, nor did I throw the strongest punches. But...sir, I’m smart. I finished with top scores, and I can_ build _things that you need--or maybe never thought you needed. Give me trash, give me anything that’s broken and useless, I’ll make it the most valuable asset in your unit next to your direct reports.”_

_Mustang watched as Fuery trailed off and just held his breath. “Time, Falman?”_

_“Four minutes, sir.”_

_Mustang rose from his seat and placed his hands in his pockets. “That’s just enough time for you to reach Comanche. I need to keep Falman here with me. You’re dismissed.”_

_It did not escape Mustang that Fuery’s shoulders dropped slightly, almost as if in disappointment. But the young man snapped back into a salute and puffed his chest, “Thank you, Lt. Col. Mustang, sir. This was an honor.”_

_Mustang returned the salute and watched as Fuery let himself out._

_“Hawkeye!”_

_Hawkeye let herself in just before the door closed and marched up to the desk, standing next to Falman._

_“Falman?”_

_“Sir, he has excellent records from the Academy as he stated, and wherever he was given the chance to practice on the field, albeit non-combative. Only Comanche’s team has in any way or form leveraged his knowledge on radios, but I don’t believe they’ve seen the potential in it yet. The kid also has a history of going through due process requesting reassignment to different teams or sites, including Central HQ, but each request has been rejected for lack of any better basis on record for combat performance.”_

_Mustang looked at Hawkeye._

_“Sir,” she began. “Based on my discussions with Falman, I believe Fuery’s goals are aligned with this team’s, but he will need a lot of guidance before we can really uncover all of that potential and allow him to make decisions with it. An expert in radio and communications will be strategic, and as he is young and well under the radar, people will think nothing of you requesting his headcount. If anything, the ranks will assume you only want someone to accomplish your paperwork on your behalf, which--!”_

_Mustang raised his eyebrows._

_“--I assure you I will forbid.”_

_Falman stifled a laugh and Mustang resisted the urge to remark. “Fair,” he said. “I want Fuery reassigned to this team by Monday next week. Both of you will be in charge of that.”_

_Both subordinates snapped in unison, “Yes, sir!”_

Hawkeye followed Fuery through the entrance of the grand Central City ballroom, pausing only to salute the guards at the door. Fuery adjusted his glasses as he drank in the sight.

The floors were glistening marble and extended generously straight ahead and to his left and right. Grand windows and tapestries stretched upwards from the floor and allowed the moon and stars to gaze at the ice sculptures and banquet tables just beneath them. There were nine crystal chandeliers hanging from the gilt and hand-painted ceiling, with the centermost piece being the largest and most intricate. _What would it be like to be permanently assigned to Central HQ,_ Fuery thought breathlessly. He looked to see other military personnel in white and their colorfully dressed civilian escorts mingling in every corner. A small 10-person orchestra was playing music close to the führer’s chair. 

Amestris’ great leader had yet to make an appearance.

“Sergeant.”

Fuery stiffened realizing he had slowed down. He spun around and found Hawkeye giving him a stern look. “S-sorry, ma’am. I’ll go to my post now.”

“Good. Nothing is what seems here, do remember. Pick up everything you can.”

“Yes’m!”

Hawkeye watched as Fuery marched away from her and disappeared into the crowd of white uniforms. She breathed in deeply and began to scan for her charge. 

“If it isn’t 2nd Lt. Riza Hawkeye.”

Hawkeye turned and snapped into a salute. “Col. Archer,” she offered the familiar, pale skinned man.

“Good to see you again,” he returned. “Always refreshing after dealing with anyone substandard all week long.”

Hawkeye set her jaw at the insult to her peers in Frank Archer’s unit. She kept her silence, hoping it would send a cue. 

“You look good in white, 2nd lieutenant,” Archer continued. “It would look better if you had another star. Hasn’t your precious colonel thought to promote you after all your years of service?”

“You’re very kind to consider me worthy of any further rank, Col. Archer. I believe my work should speak for itself in time.”

“You know, if I had you in my team, I could push you up as far as Captain.” Archer’s lips then formed into a thin line of a smile, to which Hawkeye almost frowned.

“I’m not one to close doors, colonel,” she said. “Perhaps that discussion can be tabled for another time, when it is more appropriate.”

Col. Archer chuckled. “I see exactly why he likes you, Hawkeye. Loyal as a dog.”

“Aren’t we all dogs.”

Archer scowled and took another moment to regard the other soldier, seemingly deciding if he should prolong this conversation. “I won’t keep you from finding him. I suggest you start where all the women are,” he said darkly.

“Sir,” Hawkeye responded with a final salute, and took her leave to return to her search. A couple crossed her line of vision towards the dance floor, and as if on cue she finally laid eyes on the man she was looking for.

Dark hair combed neatly back and standing strong in his gala uniform, Col. Roy Mustang stood a few feet away, scotch in hand, speaking with Brigadier Generals Fessler, Edison and Olivier Armstrong. His gaze moved from one officer to the next, until movement to his right forced him to look towards Hawkeye and accidentally meet her gaze. 

Mustang lingered awhile, as Edison took over the conversation. He noticed his personal adjutant, the way she had deliberately curled her hair into a bun beneath her left ear, and neatly pinned her stars and medals into her well-pressed uniform. Another escort crossed his line of sight and she disappeared. Mustang smiled to himself, knowing she would have found another post.

“This scotch runs smooth, doesn’t it?” Fessler grinned as he swirled the honey brown liquid in his drink. “Only the finest that Central can offer.”

Edison gestured his glass to Mustang, “Do you have much fine scotch in East City?”

“East City people hold their red wines closer than they do their whisky,” Mustang smiled. “But whenever we have a choice, we enjoy single malt whiskeys the most.”

“And that is the way to go!” Edison barked. “Mustang, I hear you’ve climbed the ranks steadily since Ishval. You must be joining us here in Central soon.”

Olivier scoffed, “Any reputation of that sort has to be sustained,” she said. “Especially after you are reassigned.”

“I should hope to follow in your example, madame,” Mustang smiled purposefully. “Word of your performance has reached far and wide passed Amestrian borders. Your men are loyal and trust in your word. It’s truly admirable.”

“My men trust _themselves_ ,” Armstrong corrected. “I do not need to dictate their mentality.

“A mark of a true leader,” Fessler chuckled. “Did you still elect to not bring a companion with you tonight?”

Armstrong growled and opened her mouth to retort. Mustang stepped in, “I believe the Brigadier General doesn’t require any companionship of the sort at this point in her life. She has a platoon to watch, and her focus must remain steadfast.”

Mustang relished quietly in delight as the older woman’s cheeks tinted slightly.

Edison sniffed, “You both have started to become more visible to the führer, undoubtedly. I’m curious,” the superior took a sip of his scotch. “What powers do you seek in these ranks?”

Armstrong set her gaze on Mustang as if to probe him first. “Let this young punk impress us with his answers.”

Mustang shrugged, “I seek to lead men and women and continue the good work of the führer. Training our forces in combat, diplomatic studies and trade sustains our safety and security here in Amestris. I seek to sustain that wherever I am placed.”

Edison and Fessler nodded in agreement, and turned to Armstrong.

“I seek my own command at the borders of this country,” she said. “To be the first line of defense, and the _only_ line the enemy will attempt to cross.” She then turned to Mustang and scoffed, “It’ll make your job easier.”

Mustang smiled, “Glad to know our competition isn’t head-to-head.”

“Not as of yet, you young punk,” Armstrong spat.

Edison laughed and invited the small circle to a toast, raising the glass of scotch that represented the drink of powerful men. “To your chain of command, Brig. Gen. Armstrong, and Col. Mustang.”

* * *

Hawkeye waited quietly, her right hand on the wheel and her left on the gear shift, as her superior climbed into the seat next to her and Fuery at the back. As soon as the doors of the car shut, she started the engine and made her way out of the Central HQ’s driveway.

“Report,” Mustang said, unbuttoning his collar.

Fuery took his cue. “Liore was mentioned among the higher ups again, colonel.”

Riza turned her head slightly, but said nothing. Mustang looked at Fuery, “Anything new?”

“The high priest made a new claim, about bringing back the dead, and restoring them anew with his god-given gifts.”

“How are we tolerating this,” Mustang mumbled. “Up until you mentioned it, all he was doing just sounded like alchemy.”

“I thought so, too sir. It was unsettling that Central’s management doesn’t seem to be the least bit concerned. They mentioned that he is aided by an artifact.”

“Did you get a description of the artifact?”

Fuery adjusted his glasses, “A civilian mentioned it in their gossiping. The rumors are it is a precious stone that sits in his ring.”

Mustang crossed his arms over his chest as the car turned a corner. “Hawkeye, keep note of this and make sure Falman digs ahead. Do we have any East City forces stationed in Liore?”

“I will relay your instructions to W.O. Falman, colonel. As for the forces in Liore, we have non-combative patrol. There is no sign of unrest.”

Within a few minutes, Hawkeye pulled the car into the driveway of the military visitors’ apartments. She brought the vehicle to a stop at the front door.

“Sergeant,” Mustang barked.

“Sir!”

“Well done tonight. I’ll see you at 0600 sharp. We leave for East City early.”

“Affirmative, sir.” Fuery stepped out of the car and shut the door. “Thank you, 2nd lieutenant!”

Hawkeye waved back and pulled the car to the car park. Mustang grumbled next to her and leaned his head farther back. “What a night. I could barely keep up with the higher-ups’ yapping.”

“That so, colonel,” Hawkeye smiled, easing the car into its slot. “I was just about to say you were fitting right in.”

“If I didn’t know you so well, I wouldn’t let you be so cheeky with me.”

Hawkeye killed the engine and pocketed the keys. She adjusted in her seat and looked at her superior, whose eyes were closed, and brow furrowed. She noticed how the lamplight from outside glowed gently on his features, accentuating tired lines in his face from lack of sleep. For a moment, she was taken back a night many years ago, when she found her father’s apprentice snoring on an old rickety couch by the fire.

_“Mr. Mustang?” Riza asked quietly, and tried to nudge the older boy awake. “Uhm...Mr. Mustang?”_

_Roy jerked awake and looked to find Riza's small childish frame practically cowering next to the armrest of the sorry couch. “Oh...it’s you,” he said absently._

_“Father asked me to bring you tea.” Riza shakily offered the steaming teacup and saucer. Roy’s gaze softened and he smiled. “Thank you, Riza.”_

_Riza felt her cheeks turn hot, and she muttered a ‘welcome’ and ran out of the study._

_Little did she know, Roy had spent the next five lulling minutes staring at the door she came through, wondering if she would bring him tea every night thereafter._

“Shall we call it a night, colonel. The journey is long tomorrow.”

Mustang brought a hand to his face and massaged the bridge of his nose. “Hawkeye, report.”

“Youswell’s citizens are unsettled due to reported corruption. No further action will be taken unless its leadership is exposed.”

“Youswell...under 1st Lt. Yoki?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Find out more, will you? And the next time we speak I expect exact actions we can take to expose what he’s doing. We don’t need another civil war to start from something as petty as that.”

“Yes, sir.” 

“Observations on Fuery? I was just thinking he should be due a promotion to Master Sergeant, soon.”

“I would not be opposed, colonel. He is progressing well.”

Mustang sat up in his seat and ran his hands through his hair to make it look more like it normally did.

Hawkeye immediately looked away and onto the dashboard.

“Before I dismiss you…”

Hawkeye raised an eyebrow and glanced back at her superior.

“I liked what you did to your hair tonight.”

Hawkeye smiled. “And I liked what you did to yours just now,” she offered.

Mustang smiled and suddenly made his way out of the car. He strode to Hawkeye’s side just as she opened the door.

“Thanks for driving,” he said, holding out a hand.

Hawkeye placed her fingers in his as she stepped down, “Always a pleasure, colonel.”


	3. Drachman Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You may have guessed it. Vodka’s etymology comes from the Slavic word for “water”. In old Polish, it also means “to burn”.

Some of the strongest liquors originated from Drachma, where the nights were long, the cold unforgiving, and the people, so born out of those conditions were hardened by experience.

“Vodka.”

Colonel Roy Mustang gritted his teeth and slid his glass to the bartender in response. The emptiness of the seat immediately to his left was weighing him down like a ton and the events of the day were weighing down him down even more—on every muscle in his body, his shoulders, his arms, his damned legs—all of it. Sore from standing at the grave of his best friend, late  _ Brigadier General Maes Hughes. _

Roy received the news not even an hour after the phone call,  _ that _ call that he answered like a complete asshole.

_ “I’m here,” Roy barked into the receiver, fist against his hip. “If you’re bragging about your daughter, I’m not listening.” _

_ Silence. _

_ “Hughes?” Roy tried again, his eyes snapping towards the phone, as if that way he could reach through it. “Hughes…hey, Hughes!” More urgently… _

The last thing Roy heard at the time was the phone on the other end gently being replaced in its cradle, and the next thing he knew, he was barking orders to search all public telephone booths within a hundred meters of Central Headquarters’ perimeter.

Roy grimaced as the glass was returned to him, filled with still clear alcohol.  _ And that was the last fucking thing I ever said to you… _ I’m not listening. 

I’m not listening.

_ I’m not listening. _

Roy clenched his fists and his chest tightened.  _ Damn right, you little fuck, _ his head screamed.  _ You weren’t listening. _

As if to drown the noise in his brain before it could grow, Roy downed his  _ nth _ glass of vodka and pinched the skin between his brows. The liquid burned its way down his throat.

“Bartender!” he said, perhaps a little too loudly. 

“Chief?”

“Just leave the bottle here.”

Wordlessly, the bartender slid the weighty bottle over to Roy, who caught it in his other hand and immediately began to pour himself another.

Never had he known loss this way, nor would he have imagined ever knowing loss as if he knew the weight of the world and all its pain and sorrow. Never would he have thought that it felt like longing, need for attachment, and sheer fear, all at the same time. How could this be...that by losing something so important he would yearn to replace it with something else, want connection and also recognize the emotional requirement to make it. He could feel himself spiraling.

To want...

To want to have something, to value something, to  _ love _ something, but fear it being taken away forever. 

Such as the life of a dear friend… _ damn you, Maes Hughes. _

Forever. 

_ Half empty. _

Roy stared at the glass in his left hand, the bottle in his right, barely noticing his vision was already glossed over with remorse…and so. Much. Pain.

Roy was no stranger to death and how it made a habit of taking away those he loved.

He was too young when he lost both his parents. He remembered asking Aunt Chris once, but just once. As such, he received the answer just once, while his aunt’s reassuring arm held him around his shoulders and her other hand reached for both of his. Roy failed to remember the story, or at least forced it out of his mind because he could not understand. He could not understand. He was, at the time, too young. But he remembered, for so long, feeling it was his fault his mother died. How he lost her at so tender an age, was entirely his own fault. It was always Roy Mustang’s fault. 

The older Mustang, his father, was deeply aggrieved by the loss of his wife.

_ But they loved you very much, Roy-boy,  _ Aunt Chris would always say.  _ From the very moment they saw you, they wanted to keep fighting for you. That, I promise, is the only truth you need know. _

Roy downed the next glass.

Pour.

Drink.

Pour.

Drink.

Losing Master Hawkeye was a much clearer memory. Roy was after all, much older. Upon being assigned to East City HQ, after having not shown up at his Hawkeye mansion all throughout his training at the Academy, Roy decided to face what he knew would be his master’s rage at what his young and only apprentice had become.

_ It’s a waste to even teach the fundamentals of alchemy to someone who lowers himself to becoming a dog of the military. _

Roy took a shaky breath and rubbed a hand across his face.  _ Can’t do fucking anything right, can you? _ That little voice in his head threatened to scream again, and Roy silenced it with more alcohol.

When Master Hawkeye told him about where his research was located, specifically  _ who _ was guarding it, Roy knew it was both a warning and a request—a warning that what Roy Mustang would have to endure would be hell on earth, fitting for the alchemy he so feverishly pursued, and a request to protect it and allow it to disappear from the face of the earth when the time came. Never to pass it on. 

Roy had, for a good portion of his young, naïve years, respected and trusted Master Hawkeye, and looked up to him as perhaps a little more than that, but not quite a father. Therefore, when those dying words slipped out of the elder man’s mouth, Roy told himself to abide.

Mindlessly, the colonel swirled the remains of the bottle and poured it into his glass.

_ Drink. _

Roy winced at the thought that this was the beginning of the nights he would spend alone in this familiar and now haunting Central City bar. No amount of live piano and merry-making young couples could bring back what this bar used to be. 

_ I’ll damn you to hell, _ Roy’s thoughts swam, sloshing like vodka.  _ I’ll find you and I’ll  _ damn _ you to hell! _

“Colonel.”

Despite how gentle and feminine that sounded, Roy nearly swung his arms at the glassware in front of him. A soft ringing in his ears started as he looked over his shoulder and barely noticed 1 st Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye slipping a piece of paper to the bartender and eyeing her superior carefully. “Are you alright?”

_ Are you alright? _

Roy blinked, his brow still furrowed, his breathing tight and labored from sheer frustration. “What do you want, lieutenant?”

“I have to drive you home.” She did not falter.

Roy knew he was in no condition to drive himself back to his sorry excuse of a home. And even while drunk, he knew he would lose to an argument with his personal adjutant. Grumbling, he took his coat from the counter and jammed his hands into his pockets in an attempt to steady himself. Riza nodded to the bartender and followed her superior until they got outside. 

Roy trudged towards the car, not realizing that Riza was already half leading him there, arm-in-arm. “I hate rain,” he muttered. Riza said nothing.

Roy failed to notice that as he was being helped into his seat, Riza’s gaze on him softened and she closed the door and made her way to the driver’s side. 

Riza maintained a steady drive through Central and towards the colonel’s house. She was glad that at least at 2300, Central was a ghost town. She glanced at Roy and saw him struggling to keep his gaze on the road. “Colonel, you can close your eyes a while. We’ll be another ten minutes,” Riza offered.

For a moment, she thought the man decided to sleep, when he suddenly jolted upright, “Veer right!”

Taken aback, Riza looked for oncoming cars and steered the car into a side road. It did not take her long to understand, and in seconds she brought the car to a crawl, and then to a stop, right across a familiar, warm service apartment building.

The Hughes residence.

The two officers sat in silence for a few moments, watching the few windows glowing from soft evening lights.

“I’m a fool, lieutenant.”

Riza looked at Roy and found him staring at the building. She killed the engine. “Aren’t we all, colonel?” she said softly.

“I thought Drachma made the strongest vodka,” Roy said bitterly. “Then why is everything still so  _ clear?” _

“Sir,” Riza beckoned, and immediately stopped herself to take a few more seconds to think. “Perhaps we should pay Mrs. Gracia and Elicia a visit next week,” she said. “They’d be happy to see you. Elicia, especially”

Roy’s dark eyes slowly moved from the apartment building, and onto Riza’s eyes. “I can’t…”

Riza watched her superior as he sank in his seat and although kept his gaze on hers, slowly seemed as if he was staring past her and possibly back to the apartment building, and into a particular third floor unit that held memories of better nights. 

_ Hughes... _ Riza thought,  _ I’m sure you know how much he’s going to miss you. Please watch over him when I can’t. _

Riza placed a hesitant hand on Roy’s arm. “Sir?” she asked carefully.

No response.

“Let’s discuss this another time. I should take you home.”

A nod.

The drive on was uneventful, but Roy managed to stay awake. As soon as they arrived at his residential driveway, Riza again killed the engine and stepped out and walked quietly to the passenger’s side, intending to assist her drunken charge. 

“Sir, would you--” 

“Get away from me,” came the loose-lipped response.Riza raised her eyebrows as she was waved off. She watched her superior struggle to stay on his feet as he slammed the door shut and kept a hand on his face. 

Riza thought little of it and walked ahead through the front gate. The small lawn that stretched on either side of her looked unkempt with little spring flowers peering their way above the growing grass. She sighed and made her way to the front door. Sliding her hand under the frame, Riza felt for a characteristic ridge and probed it until a silver house key dropped into her palm. She glanced over her shoulder to make sure Roy was still on his feet, and unlocked the door. 

It took a while for Riza to recognize the vaguely familiar surroundings. Immediately to her right was the living room and a fireplace, barely furnished with a tall lamp, a couch and a coffee table. She had only ever been here once, when the colonel first moved in from East City and required her assistance with his more personal belongings--alchemical books, ignition gloves, and few framed pictures that she noticed now sat above the fireplace. Her face dropped upon realizing how many empty bottles were actually littered all over the place. Her gaze passed over to the kitchen and small dining area to her left, where she found more bottles and unwashed dishes. If it weren’t for all the “glassware”, the colonel’s place would’ve been tidy...if only because he was hardly home. Riza’s mind subconsciously drifted to her own apartment, where her own belongings were still boxed and unpacked.

“Sorry,” came a mumble from behind her. She stepped aside to let Roy through when he tripped at the entrance. 

“Colonel!” Riza retorted, more in irritation than shock, and caught him by the arm. “Please be careful,” she added. Roy shrugged and trudged towards the couch across the fire.

Riza turned her attention to the door and closed it, deciding to at least place all the bottles into a bin. As she worked her way through the kitchen area, she barely noticed Roy shuffle his way down the hall towards what would be the stairs leading up to his bedroom. 

_ “Lieutenant!” Jean Havoc grinned and slid a pint towards her. Riza smiled confidently and caught the lager mug. _

_ “If you think you can outdo her, think again before you show up hungover at work tomorrow,” he warned despite the grin on his face. _

_ Falman slapped a hand on Havoc’s back, “Alright, you competitive lieutenants,” he barked. “On three!” _

_ “One...two...three!” _

_ True to form and Roy’s amusement, Riza downed the alcohol mere seconds before Havoc did. She slammed the empty mug in front of Havoc, eyes flashing. “The military doesn’t hire little girls,” she said. “Surrender.” _

_ Havoc’s jaw dropped and he groaned.  _

_ Falman and Fuery laughed and continued to poke fun at their comrade as Riza retreated to her position next to her superior.  _

_ “What would your father say?” _

_ Riza smiled slightly.  _ “That Mustang boy  _ was bound to be a poor influence to you. Made you join the military, too.” _

_ Roy smiled darkly back and took a swig of his own beer. _

_ “Allow me to be a candid, colonel,” Riza said. _

_ “Please,” Roy replied. “I’m enjoying this.” _

_ “I’ve never thought twice about devoting my path to your cause,” Riza said, turning slightly to face her old friend. “And this lager,” she added, pointing to Roy’s mug, “Would like me to remind you that I’ll follow you no matter what.” _

_ Roy smiled, “I owe you my life.” _

_ Riza rolled her eyes, “I’ll _ take _ your life,” she said, “If you do anything stupid.” _

_ “Most reassuring, lieutenant,” Roy stifled a laugh and watched as his flushed subordinate stretched her arms out in front of her. “Anything else you’d like to take?” he asked casually. _

_ “Colonel,” Riza breathed and rolled her eyes, “I wouldn’t take your last name even if you offered. I have a job to do.” _

_ Roy broke out, full-on laughing. _

The noise of the bar muddled over and faded in Riza’s head as she made her way to the pictures above the fireplace. As she picked up a bottle next to them, her eyes settled on an old photo of a younger twenties Roy holding up a pint of lager with one hand. His other arm was around a beaming, drunken Maes. Riza swallowed and ran her eyes to the next picture frame.

It was the only picture Roy had of his parents.

“Lieutenant?”

Riza turned slowly and found Roy leaning against the wall behind the couch, his head low. “I don’t understand.”

Riza set the bottle down on a table and made her way towards Roy until she was standing right in front of him. “You can’t expect yourself to,” she said gently. “Not right now.”

“Can we just...for one minute,” Roy struggled with his words and Riza noticed his hands ball up shakily into fists. “Please,  _ Riza… _ ”

Riza felt her own walls quiver and she took Roy by the shoulders. She followed as he started to sink to his knees. “I don’t understand, Riza,” he continued.  _ “I don’t understand.” _

“Roy…” 

And she watched as rain dropped delicately onto his trousers and left it blotched and black.

“Does he know?” he said. “Will he forgive me?”

Riza silently brought her hands to his face.

“Will his daughter hate me,” he said, his own hands pressing down on his knees. “When she finds out I couldn’t protect her father?”

Riza stayed quiet, watching the walls around her charge crumble under the weight of rain.

_ I hate rain. _

“Will he forgive me?” Roy said, even more unsteadily than the first time. “How will I know? Riza?”

Riza held her breath, calculating what she wanted to do next.

Slowly, The Hawk’s Eye brought her arms around the Flame Alchemist’s shoulders and pulled him into a protective embrace. His head sank into the crook of her neck and the sounds he made became slightly louder, the rain slightly heavier. 

_ I’ve never thought twice about devoting my path to your cause. _

Riza closed her eyes and steadied the weight in her arms. She knew that he needed to grieve. But because his resolve was strong, she also knew that by morning he would be renewed and return to working towards his goal. This would be, after all, the best way to honor Maes Hughes--to achieve an outcome that proved his death was not for nothing.  _ Just don’t make it difficult for me, colonel, _ she thought, her embrace tightening around him.  _ Go only where I can follow... _


	4. Bourbon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bourbon is a whiskey that is primarily corn-based and originated from the United States. There is no hard and fast rule. Enjoy it on its own or on the rocks, as you wish.

“So…Brigadier General, huh?” 

Roy smirked and kept his eyes on the familiar, age-old chess board sitting between him and his constant mentor, Führer Grumman. The older man was as spritely as ever as he evaluated his next move. 

“You leave for Ishval this afternoon?”

“Yes, Führer,” Roy replied. “Although my men have already gone ahead to lay some of the ground work.”

“Of course they have,” Grumman said loftily. “All of them?”

“No,” Roy said. “My personal adjutant awaits me outside with your guard.”

Grumman grinned and made a move with his knight. “You haven’t scared her off, then.”

Roy’s smile softened as he allowed his eyes to settle on the ivory queen. “She’s my strongest, sir,” he said and made his next move with a rook. 

“You know, Mustang,” Grumman said, a hint of teasing in his voice. “At the rate you and I are going you should really take my last bidding seriously.”

Roy looked up and realized Grumman was studying his face intently. The old man continued, “I  _ really  _ want my granddaughter to be First Lady of Amestris.”

Roy nearly laughed and his memory flashed back to when he first sought the transfer of his men from Eastern Command to Central.

“She can’t be First Lady until the Führer asks for her hand in marriage, isn’t that right, sir?” Roy smiled, eyes closing. “So the next Führer must stay focused on the job at hand today, so that perhaps your granddaughter can be asked before she’s too old and tired of the military.”

Grumman threw his head back, hand on his belly, and his barking laughter filled the room. “My granddaughter takes after her mother,” he said, waving a hand in the air. “Her youthful looks don’t follow her age in numbers.”

Roy looked up and saw the characteristic glint in the eyes of his superior. The man continued. “Take a good look around this office, General.” 

Roy obliged and quietly allowed his mind to drift to the last time he was sitting in this office. It was not near as pleasant an experience.

_ “By now your men have already received their transfer orders,” Führer King Bradley said sternly. “And they have clear instructions to move immediately.” _

_ Mustang went livid in his seat at the table across from the older man and he remained silent, realizing that nothing he would say or do at this point would serve the circumstances he was in. He wanted to know where his men were being reassigned. _

_ “I’ve sent your youngest boy to the trenches in Creta,” Bradley continued. “That master sergeant of yours should be able to meet at least one out of two fates, am I correct?” _

_ Mustang clenched his jaw as his mind reeled. Amestris and Creta were in the middle of a bloody civil war. Fuery was hired into their unit not long after his graduation from the Academy, and like Havoc he had no combat experience whatsoever.  _

_ Mustang could not bear the implications.  _

_ “W.O. Falman and his lack of any real footsoldier capacity will serve the North Wall of Briggs,” Bradley took a sip of his tea and Mustang resisted the strong urge to smash the porcelain piece into his mouth. “I’ve managed to distract him with a small promotion, but that only serves to have him realize he’s gone off-course in his career, doesn’t it?” _

_ “Your 2nd Lt. Breda will be stationed out west. I believe Pendleton will render his skills completely useless, and at the very least useless to you.” _

_ Bradley paused and set the teacup back on the saucer. He folded his hands together on the table and deliberately met Mustang’s gaze with a cold, hard stare. _

_ “….and your most precious, 1st Lt. Hawkeye, will be staying right here in Central Command.” Bradley relished as he saw the young fool across him practically squirm in his seat and turn red with anger. _

_ “With me,” the tyrant Führer finished. _

_ Mustang held his breath and felt every muscle in his body grow tense. He wanted nothing more than to run out of the room and recollect his men, at least give them one last message each and commit that he would endeavor to get them all back. He would especially want a word with his MSgt. Kain Fuery-- _ god, especially Fuery! _ If anything happened to him, Mustang knew that as his superior officer he would be answerable to his family. He would, as he did time and time over after the extermination of Ishval, have to knock on the hollow doors of the Fuery residence to deliver news that no parent deserved to hear… _

_ But Mustang instead met the Führer’s eyes, determined to hold his ground, and he fought to assure himself that he would find another way to get his men back. He noted the deafening silence of the office, and realized how sick the ambiance was making him.  _

_ Not too long ago did he aspire for this seat of power. How the  _ fuck _ would anyone have thought that this  _ shit show _ of a military was being cooked up in here by a  _ homonculus?

_ “I’ll take your silence as compliance, young Mustang,” Bradley said coolly. “Which is good enough, as we are about to be joined by two guests whom you happen to know very well yourself.” _

_ At that moment, the door behind Mustang opened and an Amestrian soldier stepped inside to hold it ajar.  _

_ “The Fullmetal Alchemist and his brother,” the soldier quipped. _

_ At the corner of Mustang’s eye he recognized Edward Elric, who had seemingly shed his favorite red coat. Next to him was the looming metal hollow presence of his younger brother Alphonse. As the soldier disappeared and closed the door behind the brothers, Mustang noticed how quickly and pale Ed became. _

_ “Colonel!” was the only thing the older Elric mustered, and Mustang heard the hint of betrayal that rang with it. _

“Not even a month ago the center of power of this country was  _ teeming  _ with corruption among the ranks.”

The sound of Grumman’s voice brought Roy out of his own sentiments and back into the office. The superior continued, “We’ve done what we can consider to be immediate action, but they are nothing more than placeholders for a much more long-term solution.” Grumman moved his bishop, and kept his eyes on the board. “You still stand for that. And I trust that with your skills and ambitions, I will be able to leave this post to you one day.” 

Roy immediately recognized the attempt at a diversion and lowered his chin. “Your accolades humble me, Führer Grumman,” he offered genuinely. He picked up his queen and held it delicately between his fingers. “I learn from the best.”

“Check!” Roy set the queen diagonally from the ebony king.

“What--!” Grumman threw his hands over his head and grabbed whatever hair he had left. “You’re kidding me!”

Smiling content, Roy gathered all the pieces in his arms and began to tuck them away into the chessboard. “That leaves you at 97 wins and 15 draws, but with two losses now. You’re slowing down, sir.”

Grumman chuckled and adjusted his spectacles. “Yet another parting gift for you, Brigadier General, for your tenure in Ishval.”

“Tenure makes it sound long, Führer,” Roy said, latching the chessboard shut and sliding it in place nearer Grumman. “I need to hurry my way up. Ishval will be a self-sustained trading point in no time.”

“Under your good watch, and in the hands of the ‘Mustang unit’, I have no doubts.”

Grumman rose from the Führer’s chair and walked to the storage cabinet, procuring two glasses and a bottle. “Before you leave, as this is indeed a special assignment, how about a drink?”

Roy stood up and assisted his superior officer, taking a glass and the bottle. “Bourbon...”

“Yes, it’s becoming more popular here,” Grumman grinned. “A refreshing break from the brandy.”

Roy smiled and poured the honey tinted alcohol into the glass in Grumman’s hand and then into his own. “To our brothers and sisters in Ishval, Gen. Mustang,” Grumman offered a toast. Roy met the glass with a light clink. “Cheers.”

“You know,” Grumman said absently, as if surmising aloud. “I’ve started thinking about what I’d do if I get an early retirement.”

Roy smiled kindly, “What’ve you thought of?”

Grumman returned the question with a naughty grin, “How soon do you think I’ll be able to see my great grandchildren once I give up this post?”

Roy sputtered on his alcohol and had to ram a fist into his chest. Grumman started cackling and slapped a surprisingly strong hand on the young general’s back.

“I suppose these make good parting words!”

Roy, still wide-eyed and beet red from the neck to his ears, stared stupidly back at the Führer. “I agree that we can part here, sir.”

“Until our next match then, young punk,” Grumman sniggered, familiar with the nickname most other higher ups in Mustang’s circle used to taunt him with. 

“Sir!” Roy managed a polite smile and snapped into a customary salute.  _ Still a strange old man by reputation, yet far more cunning and intelligent than anyone will let on, _ he thought to himself.

Grumman returned the salute, and Roy turned on his heel and let himself out of the office. As he shut the door behind him he instinctively looked to his right and found the Führer’s guard already at attention.

“Brigadier General,” came the firm feminine voice at his left shoulder.

Captain Riza Hawkeye clicked her heels and fixed her hand in her most polished salute.

“Let’s go, Captain,” Roy said, easing into his long travel coat and tucking his hat under his arm. “It’s a long way to Ishval.”

“Yes, sir.” Riza replied, a small smile playing on her lips.

Roy resisted the urge to smile back and nodded at the Führer’s guard, “At ease, soldier,” he said kindly, before taking leave and glancing one more time over his shoulder to make sure Riza was in her place, exactly two paces behind. 

Roy Mustang could not help but notice as they walked down Central HQ’s hallways, and the first rays of sunset poured through the windows and onto Riza’s golden hair and hazel eyes.

His queen was beautiful.


	5. Highball

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Highballs loosen you up at the end of a long day. It’s any hard liquor like whiskey, or vodka mixed with some ice and tonic water to sweeten. I imagine the Mustang unit enjoys theirs with gin. Don’t forget the lemon or lime. 
> 
> Also, now that this fic has closed, I thought I'd dedicate this chapter to @firewoodfigs, who at 2AM patiently entertains my thoughts and emotions that scream Royai~

The cool, quiet night in Ishval was approaching 23:00, and most of the Mustang unit had long since packed their bags and left. 

Only two of the team remained, now Brigadier General Roy Mustang, and his dutiful personal adjutant, Captain Riza Hawkeye.

Roy stood at the window far away from his desk, a detail he adopted from Lt. General Olivier Armstrong to avoid an easy shot. Not that they had  _ any _ reason to worry about that now. Not anymore.

Not after The Promised Day, and the Elric Brothers’ victory against Father and the Homonculi.

Roy smiled to himself at the thought of the Elrics as he looked down at the empty desert streets illuminated by the gentle yellow glow of gas lamps.

_ So long had we wanted peace like this… _

“General.”

Without turning to look, Roy stifled a laugh. “Drop it, will you? It’s almost midnight.”

“You first,” came the reply, and only because it was  _ her _ could Roy barely hear the banter.

“Riza.”

And he turned. She smiled tiredly, standing only a few paces away. “Long day. Did you want a highball?”

“Ah, yes,” Roy sighed. “That would be perfect. Help yourself, too.”

“Gin?”

“Yes.”

Highballs were the drink for the late nights in the office—well, at least that was so for Roy’s office. It was also often more the drink of gentlemen, but Riza had always kept up with her male counterparts on the team. 

More so, Roy would say the  _ team _ barely kept up with  _ her _ all these years since their transfer from Eastern Command to Central, and until today, barely four weeks after The Promised Day, working hard in Ishval to review all policies and establish a strong trading point between Xing and Amestris. 

As Roy made his way to sit at the team desk, Riza returned from the cupboards with two glasses of gin and tonic and handed one to Roy.

“Cheers, Riza.”

“Roy.”

The glasses clinked and were followed by a restful silence as the two officers took their first sips. Roy sat back, closed his eyes and heaved another sigh. “This was a great idea.”

Riza set her glass down. “If we’re constantly going to be shedding our jackets off like this, we might as well change the uniforms we have for soldiers in Ishval.”

Roy heard the laughter in her voice, and he eyed her jokingly. “Perhaps you’ll finally consider wearing a mini skirt?”

“You’ll have to wear them, too.”

“Careful, Hawkeye. I’m  _ that _ desperate,” Roy replied flatly, and he took another sip of his gin.

Needless to say, it  _ was _ much hotter in Ishval than Central, however the nights were potentially cooler, and the air dryer. In the morning, most soldiers and MPs were able to tolerate the scorching heat and kept their military grade jackets on and buttoned all the way up, but by mid-afternoon one would find pretty much everyone in just their white or black uniform shirts and combat pants.

Roy and Riza continued to sip leisurely at their drinks and enjoy each other’s silence. For as long as they could remember, this was how most of their late nights always went. Except…

“Do you remember how you used to check on me late at night when I was still studying with your father?”

Riza looked unfazed by his candor, but she did smile as she met Roy’s eyes. “What about it?”

“Just a memory,” Roy said. “Look how far we’ve come. I mean literally…”

Riza nodded. “In just over a year, too.”

Roy smiled again and his thoughts started drifting towards something else.

“Did I use to bother you when you were studying?” Riza asked.

“Not at all,” Roy said. “I liked your company, and the tea and biscuits you used to make.”

“Ah,” Riza shook her head almost laughing. “You  _ liked _ those biscuits? I was horrible at them. Mother always made them better,” her voice trailed.

“For someone who was worked to the bone and literally almost burned in the ass every waking moment, you were easily the best part of my day.”

Riza was taken slightly aback, but she had to laugh at how serious Roy’s face was, as if telling her,  _ Honestly, Riza Hawkeye, you can’t even imagine. _ “And where do I fit in your day now?”

Roy brought his glass to his lips, and before drinking said, “The scariest.”

_ Sounds right. _ “I’ll drink to that,” Riza smiled and sipped again.

Silence again.

Roy turned his glass in his hand, looking at the clear mix of liquid fizzing less and less. “Where do I…fit in your day?”

“Colonel,” Riza said quietly and, as Roy noticed, deliberately, “You were always the most important.”

She did not look up to meet his gaze, but if she did, she would see he was beckoning her to explain further. He had not expected that answer.

“My father never took pupils, let alone apprentices,” Riza continued as she swirled her own drink. “You were the first and only one, and I knew that for my father, that meant  _ something _ . If he was going to show you how to be an alchemist, I knew he’d eventually teach you the deadliest parts of it. If you did well.”

Roy clenched his fists slightly, almost instinctively to protect, just as a reaction to how this conversation might already be making Riza feel. He listened as she continued to speak in her characteristically calm tone. “And you did do well, and you came to me saying he told you where to find ‘all of his research.’”

“Riza, I didn’t mean to make this night—” 

“Really, Roy,” Riza finally met his gaze and she gave him an amused look. “Of all people, it will take much more than that for you, to offend me.”

Roy swallowed and gave her a tired smile. 

Riza sighed. “As much as there are parts of my life…of  _ me… _ that I feel I can’t bear to live with, I don’t blame anyone. I can’t possibly. There are things about this science of alchemy that are still responsible for my life today, and I am thankful even for that.”

Memories flashed across Roy’s mind, and he knew subconsciously that the same was true for Riza. These were memories of the first rebellious act against Central Headquarters by ex-Major Isaac McDougal, the first stealth-turned-combat mission against Gluttony, the close call with Lust…without the power of Flame Alchemy, how far would they have gotten?

“You’re incredible,” Roy finally said, finishing the contents of his glass.

“Excuse me?”

Roy stood up and offered to take her glass, “Would you like another?”

“Only if you will.” Riza finished her glass as well.

Roy walked across the room to the cupboard to replenish their gin and tonic. “All I mean to say is, Captain, that you are one of the strongest people I’ve ever met, and I’m more than proud of the day you accepted to be at my side.”

_ Into hell, if you ask me to. _

“That has not changed.”

Roy smiled and returned to his seat, “I should hope not,” he handed her the glass. “Rather, you’ll shoot me before that happens, anyway.”

Riza smiled as she recalled what she told him on her first day as Assistant to the Führer. “You’re still within my threshold.”

Roy’s gaze at her softened as he considered those words. “Where do you see yourself, then? Moving forward?”

“Silly question, considering the flow of this discussion,” Riza almost rolled her eyes as she took her first sip. “My future will be at your side, still.”

“I don’t see my own preferences changing, Riza,” Roy said, his lips in a relaxed line, his gaze still gentle but unwavering.  _ “If you’ll still have me?” _

Riza blinked and maintained her neutral expression as she looked up at her superior. “Personal aides don’t typically get to choose who they protect.”

“ _ You _ will,” Roy said carefully. “When the day comes that I ask you again.”

And if there had been a third person in the room, they would miss it—that swift, almost unseen exchange between this Brigadier General and his Captain, and exchange one might consider...almost only existent between long-time lovers. 

It was always how they communicated, ever since she found him on the battle trodden sands of Ishval. As fate would have it, here they were again, but under different, and much better circumstances. 

At peace.

“So that’s a question intended only for me, is it?” Riza asked calmly.

“It is,” Roy smiled and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. ”While it’s not something I need answered urgently.” He noticed that his folded hands had come closer to hers.

Riza nodded and she brought her glass up in front of her. “Then perhaps we can revisit this conversation another day, and turn in for the night so that we are well rested for tomorrow?”

Roy met her glass and held her gaze, “And every new day I spend working hard on this country’s peace and its people’s protection, I will consider it a day closer to the day I need your answer.”

“Until then,  _ my Brigadier General,” _ Riza smiled.

Whether it was her use of a possessive, or just the alcohol, Roy would not willingly admit even to himself. But as he and his aide finished their drinks, he immediately felt reenergized for the day ahead, and for the day he will see his dear captain…

The day his captain is clad in white and becomes his Queen. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed reading these chapters as much as I thoroughly enjoyed writing them. Hope to see you again in another fic <3 and if you want to catch an illustration or two, check out my tumblr @hirayaart


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